


oh my, fever's high (I lay my hands upon you)

by girlsarewolves



Category: Skinwalkers (2006)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Movie, script and movie canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1857321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/pseuds/girlsarewolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never has she known so much pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh my, fever's high (I lay my hands upon you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheYearOfTheWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheYearOfTheWolf/gifts).



* * *

Her head is full of howling wolves and pounding hammers. Her tongue feels swollen and heavy in her mouth. Lava has replaced blood in her veins, and there are hot blades stabbing into her lungs; breathing hurts. Blinking hurts; fingers twitching as all she can manage, and that hurts too.  
  
Never has she known so much pain.  
  
"Still, Sonja. Lay still." His voice is her only comfort; his touch - something she always craves and wants and demands - brings more pain with it.  He won't stop touching her now, either; his hands are everywhere, and she could swear even the lightest brushes bring bruises.  
  
This is death. This is what dying is like for monsters; was it worth it? A couple years of living among a lifetime of sleepwalking?  
  
Yes. She wants to scream it at the empty void above them, at all the faithless promises offered by deaf, dumb and blind idols. Howl it in reverence to the moon and her alpha even if they can't save her.  
  
She always knew she was born past saving.  
  
"Look at me."  His voice is authority; it is a command that only their kind can hear. His hands - sandpaper against her burning, sensitive skin - cup her face. He says it again, makes the demand that will only make it hurt more.  
  
But she opens her eyes - not out of obedience but things that run deeper than obedience, deeper than love - and she bites on her swollen tongue, bites down the whimper that rises reflexively as light shoots agony into her head amidst the howling and the pounding. Her fingers twitch; she wants to touch him, too, a desire that never leaves her.  
  
Not even when she's dying; when it feels as though something is trying to burn the beast out of her.  
  
"That's it. That's my girl," he whispers - but it's so loud she flinches - and smooths her damp hair from her face. "Keep fighting. Fight for yourself, Sonja. Lay still and stay awake for me." He kisses her forehead, and she wants to sigh contentedly, but the light pressure still feels like a sledgehammer.  
  
What is wrong with me? She wants to get the words out, but her mouth - swollen and sluggish and barely swallowing - won't work.  
  
"There's still one left, Varek. It's fucking deep, too."  
  
Sonja hisses; fingers twitch because she can't shove. She doesn't want Zo here, doesn't want Zo in this moment, especially touching her. Her eyes clench up, and her teeth grit - and everything flares up, but she's learned that negatives can be powerful fight stimulants, so she clings to her dislike through the pain, clings and focuses until annoyance becomes anger becomes rage and disgust becomes hate.  
  
"Hold her down."  
  
Why is Varek letting him stay here? Why is he making Zo touch her, trap her?  
  
Hands brace on her right shoulder, on her torso, just below her ribcage. "Stay with us, you little vixen," the beta mutters.  
  
Sonja tries to tell him to fuck himself, but all she hears is a garbled groan.  
  
Zo chuckles. He would.  
  
And then there's sharp, cruel metal cutting through her flesh, just above her hip. A hand - Varek's now, Varek's touch which hurts as much as Zo's but brings her comfort all the same -  lays flat on her lower abdomen, keeping her hips pinned as the blade slices through.  
  
Why? Just let her die, it would be easier.  
  
Sonja screams then - from the pain as the blade is removed, from the despair as the end seems near right when she finally found her beginning, from disgust at the sound of the old, pathetic her she shed the night of her first shift.  
  
_'Fight for yourself,'_ he had told her, her savior.  
  
Her fingers dig into the ground, and she forces her eyes to open, to stare up at Zo. Sonja concentrates on the grimace he's making, on keeping her body as still as she can, on not fighting against their hands even while fingers reach into the wound above her hip, digging and feeling around.  
  
"Got it," Varek says as his fingers hit the hot spot, the source of the pain shooting through her body.  
  
"Out!" She says, finally, though it's distorted by how much she hurts, how heavy her tongue feels. "Get it out!"  
  
Her alpha pulls the searing cancer from her body. More pain - the final, vain waves of it trying to overcome her - rushes through her body and then there is numbness. The tension leaves her limp, exhausted in ways she's never known, but the pain is fading and the pounding is dull and the howling has quieted.  
  
"There's still traces of it in her blood, Varek. It was in her a long time."  
  
Sonja wants to tell Zo to shut up. To let her rest now and be alone with her alpha.  
  
"I know. Go. Make sure there aren't any more."  
  
Sonja tries to smile; it's like he read her mind. Her mouth still won't work right, though, so she feels like all her face forms is a wince. Her fingers let go of the earth and her left hand reaches for Varek, feeling around for his fingers, and she clasps tightly.  
  
The sound of boots crunching along the ground let her know that Zo is gone.  
  
Varek leans over and kisses her forehead again. "That's my girl," he says. He nuzzles her now, and the contact doesn't feeling bruising. "Take it easy now. The worst part's behind you."  
  
"Wha-what?" she asks, though she means to ask what happened. What was all that pain? What could hurt her so much now that she's like him?  
  
"Silver," he tells her, and the word is poison. He cradles her though, leans in close so that his scent invades and drives away everything else, the scent of her own tainted flesh and the taste of blood and saliva she can now swallow down. Her world narrows back down to Varek, and then to the welcoming blankness of sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for theyearofthewolf for the tumblr fic prompt, 'Nurse Me'. While the movie implies that silver doesn't have any effect on the werewolves, in the script it either wasn't brought up or was implied to effect them.


End file.
